Impulse
by BregoArodShadowfax
Summary: And perhaps this was not the way, if one had asked him that morning, he would have told you his day would have gone, but he could not find it in himself to regret anything that had happened. Whatever tomorrow brought, right at that moment, he was content. Combeferre/Joly


**Title:** Impulse  
**Fandom: **Les Miserables  
**Author:** AoiTsukikage  
**Rating:** Somewhere between PG-13 and R, but it's pretty non-explicit  
**Characters/Pairing:** Combeferre/Joly  
**Chapter:** 1/1  
**Word Count:** 2662

**Notes: **This is all my friend's fault, because when she saw this gif (alturl dot com/f6yis) she said, "it looks like Combeferre's having a post-coital cigarette and they both look way too relaxed" and so this was born.

**Impulse**

It was not particularly difficult to realize when one of them had been missing for longer than a few moments, and by the time the gunshot rang in the alley, signalling the end of their grievance with the traitorous Inspector, Joly had realized that since seeing Combeferre walking rather angrily away from the cafe the other man had all but disappeared.

He gripped a chair leg embedded in the barricade and hoisted himself to his feet, wiping his bloodied hands on the sash at his waist (he had done all he could, considering the circumstances and the abysmal lack of supplies, but luckily the wounds sustained from their first battle were not horrible and between he and Combeferre, with their combined medical training, all of them should pull through the night). It was hardly as if he could go far, not with the streets as unsafe as they presently were, but since he appeared to not be outside the most logical place to look would be back in the building itself.

He picked his way through some rubble that had been displaced, his boots sliding on the rain-slick ground, and looked up at the facade of the _Musain _as Feuilly came out the door, his overcoat folded and hanging over his arm. "Do you need any help?" the other man asked, and Joly shook his head.

"No, I think we have done all we can for those who were injured, and thank God the rain at least has stopped," he sniffed a little, reaching to rub the back of his neck. He hated storms, he could feel them coming in every bone, and it was a damn inconvenience at the best of times.

Feuilly smiled a little, tilting his head to the side, before he nodded sharply and walked away. "If you were looking for Combeferre, he's on the second floor," he called over his shoulder and Joly marveled, as he always did, at just how aware the fan-maker was when it came to reading people.

He raised a hand in a wave of thanks before ascending the stairs, seeing the philosopher staring out the window with a frown on his face.

Combeferre was hardly intimidating in the way Enjolras was, but there was something about him that made him accessible and at the same time a tad unreachable, although maybe that was simply a side effect of being around their leader for so many years.

The other man turned, his face softening a little as he looked at Joly. "What is it? Do you require assistance? I apologize for rushing off like that but I..." he paused, seemingly unable to find the words. "There are a lot of things today that are trying my patience, and I used to think I had a lot of it."

"None of us are made for this," Joly assured him. "I think if any of us were _not _a little overwhelmed and unsure it would be unusual," he laughed quietly, the sound hushed as if the night itself was keeping them from making undue noise, and joined the man at the window. "And no, I think for now we two have done all we can."

Combeferre nodded absently and stared down at the street, watching the others of their group. Enjolras, Marius and Feuilly seemed to be in some quick meeting that involved a lot of pointing at the barricade, probably deciding what needed to be repaired or bolstered after the earlier attack.

"Are you angry with him?" Joly finally asked, knowing that it might not be his business but the tension between Combeferre and Enjolras earlier was hard to mistake. "For giving the Inspector over to a near stranger?"

"Am I..." Combeferre rubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. "Perhaps. A little. But try as I might, I can never quite fathom the way his mind works. It was probably a case of honor to him, somehow, but to me it was just wasting one more life and I...as a surgeon, we are taught to save people, not kill them needlessly. I think today has shown me more than any other that sometimes trying to have control of a situation is the worst thing I can do."

"What do you mean?" Joly moved a little closer, bracing his hand on the window-ledge and sniffing the sharp, after-rain scent in the air. It was mixed with gunpowder and the coppery bitterness of blood, but the night seemed clear now and with any luck the rain would hold off until at least morning.

"I mean that...I suppose I had an idea in my head, of how all of this would go, and it seemed so logical and unshakeable at the time, but everything today has proven me wrong. Marius...what he did with the powder-keg, we'd be dead if he had not, but at the moment I could not even think to praise him for his quick thinking because it was so outside of anything I thought possible," he shook his head, his shoulders hunched, and Joly could see the tension in every line of his body.

"Then, you learned something," the medic placed a hand on his back, curling his fingers in slightly. "That's not a crime, my brother. I think we have all learned something about ourselves today."

"Indeed. You seem to be taking this very well, I have hardly heard you complain about any personal ailments all day," he smiled, finally, and it reached his eyes as Joly shrugged one shoulder.

"In a way it's...easier. To die by...because of a gunshot is something that I cannot control and by the time I think to worry I shall already be dead. That is not so with a sudden ache in the body," he tried to defend himself but he knew very well that yes, he did over-think several things, and being trained as a doctor maybe only added to the number of strange body occurrences he worried about daily.  
"True," Combeferre glanced out the window again, closing his eyes and letting a sigh slip from his lips. "I know I should rest, that we should all be prepared for the morning, and the others all seem to be...settling in for the night, but I do not think I could sleep," his voice was low and Joly immediately tried to think of ways to help, even though there was not much any of them could do here.

"You need to relax, my friend," he murmured, his hand absently stroking down Combeferre's back as he tried to ease the tension there. "If you can do that, you will be able to sleep, I assure you."

"And how does one do that here?"

"I am sure if you ask Courfeyrac he would recommend finding a nice young lady to take home and treat to a good time," Joly quipped, and that got him another fleeting smile, but then Courfeyrac could probably charm the birds out of the trees if he decided to, and Joly often wondered why he himself had been the one out of all of them to find a girl willing to put up with his ways for more than a short time. Not that it mattered much now, for while she had understood why he had to go to the barricade, he knew that part of her was wounded that he would give his life up instead of staying with her.

"Well, we cannot all be Courfeyrac, can we?" Combeferre remarked dryly, pressing himself against Joly's touch a little more, and the medic hardly realized he was still moving his hand down the other man's shirt. The air was strange around them now, thick with something that had nothing to do with the weather outside, and Joly swallowed and wondered if this was more of that afore-mentioned 'learning new things about himself' he had spoken of.

It was hardly as if he was against the idea, after all he was never one for convention, but Combeferre had always seemed above such things as basic human pleasure. Maybe not so far removed from it as Enjolras, but it was not something Joly attributed to the man in any way.

"Impulse," the philosopher said suddenly, the word sharp, and Joly snapped his eyes up to meet Combeferre's. "Would you say that is what I need to learn from today? The ability to change my tactics on a whim instead of being so set in my ways that the slightest hitch in a plan causes me strife? Or perhaps the ability to act without thinking much first, because sometimes hasty plans can turn out to be the best ones?"

"I..." Joly had to admit that he was a little lost as to what the other man was saying, because the only conclusions his brain could draw were hardly logical in the least and Combeferre was a man that lived his life by logic. "Are you insinuating that we two..."

"I am," his voice was steady, as if he had _not _just propositioned Joly in the middle of what could be a battleground at any moment. "I daresay the time for overthinking and worrying is far behind us. None of us might be alive by this time tomorrow..." he stopped, even though Joly knew that it was the truth, and that even though the people had responded to begin with, they all knew that when it came to it they would look for their own lives first.

But none of them would. None of them that followed Enjolras, that _believed _in him, would ever desert, and that meant that they could all very well be dead by tomorrow evening.

He was hardly about to speculate if that knowledge colored his decision in the least, but there was a rather large part of him that _wanted _this. Not only would he be helping out a friend, but it would take his own mind off of his worries for a brief amount of time, and that would be a blessing all by itself.

"Yes," he said, before he could think to stop himself, and he saw something spark in Combeferre's bright eyes before the surgeon was moving him away from the window and into a darkened corner of the upper floor, pressed close enough that Joly could feel the heat from his body. "Are you sure that..."

"Nobody will come up," he promised. "I might not be as intimidating as Enjolras but most of them stay away when I slip into a foul mood. We will be undisturbed," he settled his hands on Joly's shoulders. "Now, how about you take that coat off? It's maddeningly hot this time of year as it is..."

Joly nodded slowly, letting the fabric slide off his arms before he caught it and set it on one of the tables. He felt strangely naked in his shirtsleeves, even though they were both fully dressed, and he took a step back only to find himself against the wall. "I..."

"You know we don't have to," Combeferre smiled at him. "Please do not think you have to do this to help me."

"That...that's hardly..." Joly let out a slow breath through his nose, deciding that for once he needed to throw all of his worries aside and focus just on what he wanted. He brought his arms up and placed them about the other man's neck, biting his lip and looking at him. "I want this," he said firmly, or as firmly as he could, and the smile it earned him was enough to tell him that Combeferre was no longer going to doubt him.

"Good," the other man held his hips and leaned in, still giving him a chance to pull away, but Joly moved to meet him instead and their first kiss was anything but gentle, days' worth of heightened emotions and being on-edge and coming out of their battle alive and unharmed pouring out. Joly's hand was clenched in the other man's hair before he realized he was doing it, but Combeferre only pulled him closer before breaking away from his mouth with a gasp.

"I...you..." Joly tried to say something marginally intelligent but his brain did not seem to be functioning properly, and when the other man started fumbling at his trousers he let him do as he would.

"We still have to be quick," Combeferre breathed, hair mussed and eyes glassy and when he sunk to his knees it was all Joly could to remember to be quiet, hands back in the philosopher's hair as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the pleasure of it all.

000

"Thank you."

It was whispered, because they were around the others now, but Joly felt Combeferre's fingers lightly slide down the back of his coat before the other man all but curled around him, sated and without any tension in his body at all.

He reached to pat Combeferre's knee, not wanting to do anything more affectionate in this setting, and he heard a low chuckle and smelt the sharpness of the cigarette Combeferre was smoking, lips wrapped around it in a way that reminded Joly of...well, he was hardly going to think about that now, and he would bet if the light were greater the others would see the blush staining his cheeks.

Not that it was horrible, because it was quite the opposite, and while he could not reciprocate in _that _way he found his hand worked about as well for what Combeferre needed.  
He did not think he had to say anything in response, not that much he could say here would go unnoticed, but he had to admit that he was feeling a little more relaxed as well and when Combeferre nudged him gently to pass him the cigarette he leaned back a little more, resting against the other man's legs and blowing smoke up into the calm night sky.

He knew the stillness would not last long, but with any luck the other side would not be foolish enough to attack them in the darkness, and that gave them a good few hours to pretend things would all be okay.

Passing the cigarette back, he accepted the bottle that Jehan passed to him….probably the last of what was left in the café…and the poet gave him a smile before turning back into a conversation with Feuilly (no doubt something about art or poetry or literature that he would be utterly clueless about).

Combeferre's fingers on his back again brought him out of his thoughts, and he took a sip from the bottle before passing it behind him and letting himself relax fully, the surgeon's fingers never leaving his coat and the light stroking was soothing him even further.

He chanced a look up again and met Feuilly's gaze, the fan-maker raising an eyebrow before he ducked his head and kept talking to Jehan, but Joly knew he was probably even redder now and Combeferre must have felt the tensing of his shoulders as he propped himself up enough to whisper to him.

"What is it?"

"I'm quite sure Feuilly knows that we…"

Combeferre laughed quietly and resumed smoking, seemingly unconcerned.

"If we can trust anyone, we can trust him. But really, does it matter?"

And Joly knew what he was really asking: does it really matter, when this was probably the only time they would be together.

"Rest, my friend. Keep worrying in the morning, but for now…"

Joly could find no fault in that logic, so he brought his legs up a little and curled against Combeferre's body, knowing that nobody would give them a second glance now.

And perhaps this was not the way, if one had asked him that morning, he would have told you his day would have gone, but he could not find it in himself to regret anything that had happened.

Whatever tomorrow brought, right at that moment, he was content.

*it's been years since I've written these two…or any of the boys, really…so I'm sorry if this is rubbish, but there it is*


End file.
